In the Undying Lands
by Laura Athena
Summary: The elves of Tol Eressëa are filled with wonder when a strange, ragged ship is seen from the tower of Avallonë. But Frodo knows who sails west at last. A Sam and Frodo fanfic, set on the Lonely Isle, sixty years after Frodo left Middle Earth.
1. Chapter 1: A Wing on the Horizon

"A white wing! There are sails on the horizon! A ship comes from the East!"

A messenger ran down the stair of polished stone that winds from the Tower of the Seeing Stone to the elf city of Avallonë on Tol Eressëa. Joyfully he called aloud his news for all to hear, and the inhabitants of the city stayed their music for a spell and hearkened to him gladly, for ships came seldom now to the Undying Lands, and many of the Eldar still yearned for tidings from sundered Arda. For through long parting from the lands where once they had walked for many ages of the world, the elves held ever in their hearts a love of Middle Earth, and though to dwell nigh Valinor was to know joy and peace as the world below knows not, still many grieved for the parting even as they sang for the lights of Varda and the music that drifted ever from the west. Therefore they came to the messenger and eagerly pressed him for details of this new arrival, for not yet could even the keenest elf eye espie any flicker on the eastern skyline, and they knew the Master of the Stone saw further than all.

"How far is it? When will it arrive? Who comes?" they cried.

"It is far distant still, but borne on a fair breeze along the Straight Road westward. You may see it soon from the high places, though I doubt that it will dock before tomorrow's dawn. As for who comes – the Master of the Stone did not say, but I saw him smile as he gazed into the palantir, and I doubt not but that there will soon be a merry meeting."

Thereupon silver bells rang out in the city, and the messenger ran on through the streets and down through tiered gardens, towards the port, and the tidings rang from carven stone and golden tree. And some of the elves climbed into the hills above the port, or gathered in the gardens, facing seaward, and others perched aloft in the flets and branches of tall elms and mallorns. Still others followed the path to the port itself and near the pier, on the pale sand, they waited, while the sun dipped below the peak of Taniquetil and the shadows stretched before them.

As twilight rose like blue mist above the horizon Thôrglîn[1], whose eyes pierce shadow, cried suddenly aloud.

"I can see the ship! Faint and remote, and strangely fashioned, quite unlike the Grey Ships of Ages past. No ship of Cirdan, that is certain. Yet it comes, but slowly, like a weary bird. White and ragged are the sails."

Curious, the elves turned to one another.

"Which of our kindred comes in such a vessel? Perhaps," said they, "it is the Lady Arwen, returned beyond all hope to Elvenhome. Or perhaps it is some of our Grey brethren, answering the Call at last, for I have heard that their craft is strange."

"Nay," said another voice softly. "It is no elf."

The elves looked down in surprise, recognising the voice of the halfling Frodo, who dwelt ever in sight of the white shore, upon the cliffs, and they wondered that he seemed to know more of the strange boat than they.

"How dost thou know?" asked they. "Canst thou see? Thy sight must have sharpened with the years! Pray tell us then, oh Sharp-Eyes, for our eyes fail." And they laughed, but not unkindly, for one and all held Frodo Ringbearer in high esteem.

The hobbit smiled.

"It is Sam," he said. "As for how I know, I cannot say, for my sight cannot reach as far as yours, as well you know. I see no ship – no sail – as yet. But I have no doubt. It is Sam." And in a low voice he added "…come at last," as though it were a thought meant for himself alone and spoken unaware. He would say no more, but presently he strode forth along the pier, to its easternmost end. And the elves hung back and waited on the beach, moved by something they could not express.

Alone on the pier stood Frodo, as the lights of Varda bloomed in the darkening sky. Behind him, the elves lit lamps, and from the shores and hills came the sound of singing. Then those at the beach saw the Ringbearer draw forth something from his breast and hold it aloft – and behold, from his hand flared a light as white and clear as starlight. And they heard him call forth wordlessly – or perhaps it was a single word, borne away in the wind – and they were amazed. For the light that now shone eastward as a beacon recalled the elven watchers to vivid living memory – a memory of past ages, beauties long-lost, and sundered land and kin.

"Telperion!" some cried, and others "Earendil!" Stirred by the sight of the living light, the elves wept, but smiled as they did so, and reached their hands towards it. And the light from the Phial of Galadriel did not wane, and the hobbit did not let it falter, but held it up for long hours unwavering, as the slow night passed away.

* * *

><p>[1] From <em>Sindarin<em>: "eagle-glance"


	2. Chapter 2: Reunion of the Ringbearers

At last Anar slipped above the lip of the world, turning all the sea to gold. White-winged and shining in the dawn, the ship came at last to the harbour of Tol Eressëa, and docked at the pier of Avallonë.

A gangplank was thrown down hastily and Sam set foot for the first time in the land of the Undying. But almost before he had stepped off the boat he felt the arms of Frodo seize him, and he was held in a long embrace.

"Sam."

"Master…"

There was no more need for words. For a long time they stood thus, together, and Sam did not see the sunlit port of Avallonë, or care that the sunrise had turned the towers to spires of pearl and gold, nor did he note the host of elves standing beyond the pier, smiling at the reunion of the Ringbearers.

At last he spoke again, a little thickly.

"It's been a terrible long time, Mr Frodo. Terrible long."

"My dear Sam…"

"I'd hardly dared hope I might find you again."

"Well you're here now, at last." And they both wept, but a great brightness was in their hearts.

Then for the first time they drew away a little and gazed at one another, and Sam saw that Frodo's face had become as he had seen him long ago in Ithillien – fine-carved, old and luminous – as though through slow chiselling the years had revealed the true face of his spirit, and it was beautiful, combining the mirth of his youth, the nobility of his suffering, and the peace and patience of his age. But Frodo laughed.

"Why Sam," he said, "what's this? By rights you should be bald and withered, but here I find you are as stout and hale and curly-headed as you ever were!"

(This was not quite true, for Sam's long and fruitful years as Mayor of the Shire and father of thirteen children had left some mark, albeit a lighter one than other Shire hobbits of his age, and his face, which glowed now with joy, was not quite so round or unlined as it had been when Frodo had sailed.)

"I'm not young anymore, Mr Frodo," he said. "Although I have always tried to keep myself in health and vigour: 'you're only as old as you let yourself be,' my old Gaffer would say (rest his bones), and I think mayhap some of that elvish dust got into me, and the gold from the Lady's tree... But you – when you left, you were pale and yet like a shadow, if you take my meaning, being sick from the wraith wound and Shelob's sting and all. Now you're still pale, but light seems to come from you, or through you or – or something. And the light is like a song. Oh, I'm not explaining it at all!"

"It is the light of Valinor," said Frodo, "and it is all around us – strange but blessed." Sam looked up and around, and for the first time became fully aware of the splendour and beauty of the white harbour of Tol Eressëa. The pier was made of the silvery wood of the mallorn, and the railings were carved with dolphins and the scaled friends of Ulmo. Their eyes were set with aquamarine, and inlaid in their backs were pieces of mother-of-pearl. Beyond the pier, curving to the right and the left, stretched the beaches, and in the sunrise their sands were silver, lapped with gold. Great wide pathways of white stone led up and away through high hills forested with mallorn and elm, and terraced gardens filled with sweet flowers and many statues of surpassing artistry. Set into the hills and beside the port were many fair dwellings made of stone or carved white wood, and they too had been shaped. Some were carved in the likenesses of trees or flowers, or the tall shells of sea-beasts; and others were of simpler shapes recalling the natural lines of stones weathered by long ages of wind and water. Dwellings there also were that reminded Sam of those he had seen in Lothlórien, rising from canopies of whispering leaves. The air was filled with the sound of music – many themes, seeming to come from stone and sky and sea, as much as from any living thing, yet all themes blended harmoniously in a great song.

"Glory…" he said, wonderstruck, and was silent. But Frodo led him by the hand to the beach, and there Sam was shown to the company of elves, who received him joyfully. Before them all stood the Lady Galadriel, who had come to the beach just before the dawn, and she opened her arms to Sam, saying "Hail Ringbearer, last to come and longest looked-for. Our hearts are glad. Here may you dwell in the stainless lands, and know unshadowed peace and rest, before you pass westward."

"What do you mean, Lady?" asked Sam. "I thought this was the true West, the farthest land – leastaways that's what I heard in all the tales said in Middle Earth. Isn't this Valinor, where the elves go, and where the Valar live and all?"

"This is Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Island," said Galadriel. "From its western shores, and indeed from the tower of Avallonë itself, one may see the shores of Aman, the vast continent where dwell the Valar and many of our kindred. Both island and continent are known as the Undying Lands, yet you may not pass to Valinor, lest it be your last journey to Mandos, for the light of Aman is too bright and beautiful for mortals to long withstand. In Tol Eressëa, especially on the eastern shore, the light is gentler, and mortals may dwell there for a longer span, before they must needs go west one final time."

"Go?" exclaimed Sam, suddenly frightened. "When? I can't leave Frodo again, but he's still young-seeming and I am old. You wouldn't send me away, would you Lady? That would be cruel hard it would, and you are not cruel."

Galadriel smiled. "I will not _send_ you anywhere. No mortal can live forever – in Middle Earth or in Valinor, none may deny the gift of Ilúvatar. Yet here in Tol Eressëa, where once dwelt the Númenóreans, mortal flesh may be sustained and life and youth extended beyond the span of life on Middle Earth. That is why Frodo seems now younger than you – it is partly the proximity to Valinor, and partly the protection of my Ring, which in Lothlórien long slowed the river of time. You too will feel its effects. And indeed, to you, the time you have here will seem long, though it is but a short time to those of us that are immortal. But long or short, your time here must end. Like the kings of Númenór, you will choose your time of departing. I deem that in the end, you and Frodo will pass together through the halls of Mandos, but thither, no elf may say. But that time is not yet before you."

"Don't worry Sam," said Frodo. "Remember in the golden wood, how time seemed both swift and slow? It is like that here."

And Sam was content, and thought no more of parting for that time. But suddenly he remembered something and delved in an inner pocket of his coat, drawing out a small box of white wood, in which was set the rune "G", in gold. This he gave to Galadriel, saying:

"Once you gave me a box like this. The gardens of the Shire have grown wondrously since, and the mallorn that I planted is the fairest tree in all the lands west of Lothlórien, east of the sea. I had thought to bring you a seed, but I see now that the mallorns here are higher and more fruitful than any on Middle Earth, and you have no need of more. But I remembered your grief at leaving Middle Earth, and I hoped that this handful of earth from my garden might be of comfort to you."

Galadriel opened the box, and touched the earth and the seed with slender fingers. The other elves clustered around, murmuring. Closing the box, she turned again to Sam and her smile was as the unfolding of the morning, and yet tears shone in her eyes.

"Grateful am I, wise gardener," said she. "This is a gift beyond all jewels to me. The earth shall I shall mingle with the soils of Tol Eressëa, and this seed will I plant beside my dwelling, and all who dwell in the Lonely Isle will feel their longing ease when they look upon your tree, and know that they are not wholly sundered from their home."


	3. Chapter 3: Torn in Two

The other elves then crowded around Sam, and would fain have questioned him about his journey, and about the ragged ship, and begged him for tales of Middle Earth. But Frodo waved them off, saying:

"There will be time enough for Sam to give the answers to all questions, but he has come a great way, and needs rest, before he can do justice to the telling of such a tale."

"And food, Mr Frodo!" said Sam. "It seems a week since my last proper meal. Sunlight and flowers are all very well and beautiful, but honey is a brighter gold, and the fragrance of baked bread a sweeter scent to me than anything, right now."

"Of course! My poor Sam, come up to my house and have breakfast, and afterwards you can tell me of your journey, and the Shire, and of your family and all that has befallen you, good and bad, since I left Middle Earth."

"I see you have much to talk about," said the Lady Galadriel, "And I deem that it is fitting that the Ringbearers be left in peace for a day or so, before Sam is called to satisfy the curiosity of all the Eldar. Therefore Master Gamgee, go with your friend – rest and refresh yourself, and tomorrow evening we shall hold a great feast in my hall, in honour of your coming, and all the Elves will hear your tales."

Sam bowed to her, stammering his thanks, and she placed her hand on his curly head.

"You have brought great joy with you, Samwise Ringbearer," she said, then smiling again at him and Frodo, she turned and with her company of elves departed, taking the southward path up into the hills, towards the city. But Frodo led Sam up the northward stair, to an outcrop of rock at the top of a cliff, jutting above the harbour. Wide and flat was the top of this rock, and covered in a green sward. There, in full view of the sea, stood a house with a low roof and a round door. Beside the house stood several trees of Oiolairë (ever-summer) with glossy, fragrant leaves turned eastward and boughs tossed ever in the wind from over sea. Before the windows grew the white, unfading uilos. And the name of this house was Minuial Tirn[1].

"Come inside, Sam" said Frodo. The inside of the house was panelled with reddish wood, and the walls and ceiling curved gently, recalling the tunnels of Bag End. And yet there was an elvish feel to the place too – graceful carvings, like vines and roots twining along the walls and over windows. Sam hung his coat on a hook beside the door, noticing as he did so that the other hook was occupied by a cloak stained with dirt and grass, and he wondered, but only for a moment. "Come," said Frodo again, and Sam followed him to the back of the house, passing several rooms filled with curious artefacts, instruments and scrolls. The eastern-most room in the house was partly open to the air, for the wall was carved with the shapes of two slender trees, and their leaves were like a filigree of marvellous delicacy, but between their trunks were three archways, letting in the sunlight and the sighing music of the waves below the cliffs. Here Frodo often sat, sometimes inside, and other times on the grass outside, composing poems or reading from his stock of elvish lore.

"What a lovely place this is," said Sam, looking around - at the view, then at the piles of books and scrolls, until his gaze lingered on the cheering sight of a table set with wooden plates like wide leaves. Frodo bustled away into the kitchen, which led off the main room, and soon returned with a tray bearing a plate of honey cakes, a bowl of fruit, and a jug of a clear red liquid, which he said was the juice of the fruit of Yavannamírë.

"Start with that, Sam, while I make tea," said Frodo. Sam sat down and began to put the cakes away speedily, stopping at times to take great draughts of the refreshing liquid, which, as he said later, tasted "like the scent of rain, but sweeter".

Soon a whistle was heard from the kitchen, and Frodo returned, bearing the steaming kettle and two mugs, which he laid on a woven mat in the centre of the table.

"It's steeped from flowers that grow on Taniquetil, so the elves tell me, though I have never been there. Tell me what you think of it." Frodo poured a thin stream of the brew into Sam's mug, and the scent that rose was strange and beautiful.

But at the sight of the homely ritual of tea-pouring, Sam's smile faded suddenly, and his face grew slack. Frodo watched him, and set down the cup gently, before seating himself at the corner of the table, near to his friend.

"Tell me about Rosie," he said quietly.

"What?"

"My dear Sam - you need not hide anything from me, least of all grief. I know how much you loved her, and I know you would never have left Middle Earth, while she lived."

"I – she –" began Sam. His throat closed, and he breathed quickly.

"The greatest burdens are the hardest to share, I know. But I understand how you feel – how it feels to lose someone you care for, perhaps forever. You don't have to fear…"

Sam looked at his friend, and saw nothing but love and pity in his face. And suddenly he began to weep, in great desperate shuddering gasps, and bowed his head to the table. Frodo reached across and put an arm around his shoulders, saying nothing. After a time, Sam began to speak – haltingly, in a muffled voice.

"It's – like a great bruise – on my heart. It's been months – and it still hurts so much – to touch – to speak of it. Oh Rose – Rose –"

"Then tell me of the happy times, Sam. The happy memories, when you both were young together, and your children ran on the green, and her hair was golden, and her step was light. Remember the joy you had, and be comforted for the time you shared with her."

"She was – so beautiful, Mr Frodo. You knew her, but you never saw her dancing with Elanor in her arms, or reading stories to Goldilocks and little Frodo and Merry – or coming up from the garden with her apron full of apples – standing at the door of Bag End with her hands all over flour and Ruby swinging from her shoulders – or laughing in the rain, when her hair was grey but her eyes were bright… Even – even at the end – when she could hardly speak for coughing, and her hands – shook – when I tried to hold them – she would smile and – and laugh… She was such a one for laughter, Mr Frodo. I tried to put her into poems, many times – but they were just words – and she was – like firelight – so alive…"

Frodo was silent, but his heart was wrung for sorrow, and he stroked Sam's shoulder. After a time Sam spoke again – and he told of all the years he'd spent with Rosie, and of the birth and rearing of their children, and of their old age together in the Shire. The sun climbed, then began to fall slowly westwards – the morning and the noon passed away – and still Sam spoke, and Frodo listened and wept with him. At last Sam's tears were spent, and his voice was dry and whispering. He told of Rosie's death, and his blind mourning – and of how at last he came to the shores of the sea, and sailed westward, departing forever the land of his kin, which to him now was marked with indelible grief.

"Where did you get that boat, Sam?" asked Frodo. "It's not like the one I came in – indeed it hardly looks of elvish make, at least not any elves that I have ever seen."

"Oh, I made it," said Sam, brushing away the last drops from his eyes. "Piece by piece, at various times over the years. Sometimes I had help – Merry and Pippin, and later young Hamfast and Tolman, when they were in their tweens. Once or twice Legolas visited the Havens with Gimli, and he helped with the planning of it. Rose helped sew the sails – and Elanor."

"Then - they knew? That one day you planned to sail over sea?"

"Yes Mr Frodo, they knew. I never spoke of it, except once, to Elanor, but they all knew somehow, and they – they _helped me_, if you can believe it. I don't think many of them really believed that I would ever set sail as such, but well, they knew that I missed you, and felt that it would be a comfort to me to make the ship, so that I would always be able to hold a hope that one day in the unforeseen future, I would be able to sail and find you again."

"I can scarce comprehend such selfless generosity," said Frodo after a pause. "But perhaps I should have expected it, since they are your children after all." He was deeply moved.

"It fair broke my heart to leave them," said Sam. "But after Rosie's death, I knew I couldn't stay, not while there was a chance that you might still be alive. They'll be alright. The Shire holds their hearts completely, and they have their own families now."

"And you, Sam?"

"Well Mr Frodo, I know you said I needed to be 'one and whole', but it was too late. My life in the Shire – well it was wonderful, and I love my wife and children more than can be told in in a thousand songs or stories. The years I had with Rosie were the happiest I've ever known. But there was never a day that I didn't miss you – never a night that I did not wonder whether you yet lived or died – and in the midst of my joy there was always a corner of my heart that yearned westwards. Now I am here it is the fulfilment of a dream – but now the sorrow in my heart is not for you, Mr Frodo, but for my children over sea, and for Rosie sleeping under sod. I do not think, even in this blessed place, that I will ever wholly lose the pain of it. It seems I am fated to be torn in two."

Frodo sighed. "Perhaps it was inevitable," he said. "I'm sorry, Sam. I wish you could have been wholly happy, as you deserve."

"Don't be sorry Mr Frodo. I've done a lot of thinking, when I was finishing the Red Book, and I read a lot of lore besides, and I now believe that it's the drop of sadness as makes joy all the greater – there being something to compare it to, if you follow me. I wouldn't have wanted it otherwise."

"Yes, even the elves are not wholly happy," said Frodo. "I recall once Galadriel said 'though love is mingled with grief, still it grows the greater', or something like to it. Perhaps even the Valar, in their unstained palaces, grieve."

They sat for a time, both looking eastward, each occupied with his own thoughts. A bird sang clearly, somewhere outside, and the air was blended with the crying of seagulls and the faint chiming of silver bells from Avallonë below. Their hearts lightened, and they spoke of other matters, though the memory of shared grief did not depart utterly from either one.

* * *

><p>[1] From <em>Sindarin:<em> "dawn-watcher"


	4. Chapter 4: Lore-master and Gardener

"Speaking of boats," said Sam suddenly. "I'd clean forgot I had something I wanted to show you – many things actually! Books and pictures and the like – including a copy of the finished Red Book, and Merry's books of herb lore, as well as some translations from elvish that I thought to make myself. But they're all still in the ship, and it's a fair way down."

"You've become quite the lore-master," laughed Frodo. "We'll go down presently. But before we do, I have something to show you too. Come outside."

Frodo led Sam out of the house and westward, through a grove of cool-shaded elm trees, under whose leaves there is perpetual twilight. Thence they came into a wide and sunlit space, like a shallow bowl, ringed with the evergreen Vardarianna. Sam gasped in wonderment. In that place was a glorious profusion of the fairest trees and flowers of Middle Earth (for those things all had origins upon the blessed isle), and many there were besides that may be found nowhere but on Tol Eressëa. A path wound down from the elm forest into the garden, paved with smooth river-stones, and bordered with trees – Lairelossë, with the slender twigs and soft white stars, and Lavaralda, whose blossom is borne like sunlit snow upon its branches – and their boughs were interlaced and their scents comingled. Sunlight gleamed through their canopy as through stained glass, gold and green, and bees, flying lazily amongst the blossoms, seemed to hang like jewels in the honey-sweet air. As Sam was led further into the garden he saw that there were countless flower-beds filled with columbine, honeysuckle and lissuin. Many bulbs were there also, drifts of narcissi and freesias, and rivers of bluebells. Small paths ran through velvet grass – some up through hills whereupon stood silver birches with shivering leaves, and others down between mossy rocks to a willow-shaded pool fringed with iris and filled with lilies. Yet more led southward, to where an orchard stood, filled with apple trees and red-fruited Yavannamírë. Yet in the centre of the garden stood the most splendid tree of all – a great mallorn, casting a radiance upon the ground as the light came through its yellow blossoms onto the leaves which, as a carpet of gold, covered the earth. And at the base of the tree was a long seat, carved in the likeness of a great, half-folded leaf. There came Frodo and Sam, and they sat awhile in silence, until at last Sam found his voice again.

"Well that's a sight and a half, and no mistake," he said. "Like out of some dream – an elvish garden, but somehow more approachable – homelike if you will – than even the gardens of Rivendell and Lothlórien in their glory. I'd dearly like to meet the gardener."

Frodo laughed. "Why he's standing here Sam," he said. "You became a lore-master – and I became a gardener."

Sam gaped.

"For years, while you transformed the Shire, sired children and governed as mayor, this has been my chief labour," continued Frodo. "There's still a lot to do, and I foresee we will spend much time here, tending and adding to it, for even in Tol Eressëa the mind and soul may grow weary from idleness."

"And that reminds me!" exclaimed Sam. "I brought some seeds as well!"

"Let's go down now then, and you can come back and get your hands dirty as long as you wish. But I warn you, if you plant mortal seeds here, this garden will be filled with elves before a night has passed!"

Thereupon the two hobbits left the garden, and descended the stairs to the harbour. Many elves they saw, who smiled and would have waylaid them, were it not for Galadriel's injunction to hold their curiosity for the morrow's eve. Yet they greeted the halflings kindly, though they did not attempt to stay them, and some followed them to the pier and helped the hobbits unload Sam's baggage from the boat. Frodo took a wide sheaf of rolled paper and an armful of books, and Sam bore his clothes and seed-packets slung in a bundle across his back. In his hands he carried carefully a little pot, in which was planted a thorny shoot. No blossom or leaf did it bear, as yet, but he carried it as tenderly as if it were a thing rare and beloved. The elves wondered at it, but Frodo understood.

"Where will you plant her, Sam?" he asked. "Beside the house, or in the garden?"

"I thought perhaps outside the great room, looking eastwards, so that when the blooms come, the scent will be blown into all the corners of the house," said Sam.

Up the northward stair they climbed once more, and behind them came the elves, bearing those other of the books and papers that Sam had stowed in his ship, which the hobbits could not carry in one trip. At the doorstep of Minuial Tirn the elves set down their burdens and Frodo and Sam sent them on their way with promises of many tales upon the morrow. After the elves departed, the hobbits carried the packages inside. The papers and books they placed on the table near the carved trees, and the bundle with the seeds and clothes was thrown, for the moment, beside the hearth, which held no fire, for the late afternoon was warm. But the little rose-bush they carried out to the patch of lawn that lay eastward, between the house and the edge of the cliff. There, sheltered by the graceful trunk of one of the carved trees, they made a bed of earth, and there, with infinite care, Sam set the thorny shoot.

The hobbits stood, looking down at the plant. A breeze from the east stirred the curls on Sam's brow.

"She will grow quickly," said Frodo. "Here the rains are kind, and there is a magic in the light that calls to life in sap and twig."

Sam said nothing, but passed his hand across his eyes. Then he went and stood at the easternmost edge of the lawn, looking at the darkening bands of twilight, which slowly misted the horizon. Frodo came behind and lightly touched his shoulder, but when Sam did not turn, he went slowly indoors and began to prepare an evening meal. When it was done, he brought it outside to where Sam was now sitting on the grass and sat beside him. They ate without speaking, and the night grew dark around them. Music of a piercing beauty – at once sorrowful and glorious - was borne to them on soft breezes from Avallonë below, and the lights of the city glimmered like stars fallen on the strand.

"I'm glad to be here with you, Mr Frodo," said Sam at last. Moonlight traced silver on his cheeks, but there was peace in his voice and in his heart. And Frodo's last burden was eased.

"Sleep, Sam," he said gently. "For you have passed over perilous seas, through storm and starlight, and you are weary with long journey and much grief. Rest now."

Sam closed his eyes, lulled by the sighing of the waves, which to him no longer held any sound of mourning, and it seemed to him that he was lapped by dark waters, the sound of which was as a song unceasing. But Frodo lay on his back beside him, and gazed up into the vast immeasurable depths of the night sky, in which shone the lights of Varda, pale and remote. Long nights had he spent thus alone in years gone by, and in those times the sky had been itself a sea, cold and drowning. Now, though the sky was as wide and dark as it had ever been, Frodo no longer felt afraid of falling into it and losing his selfhood in the void. His hand found that of Sam's, and thus they lay until dreams took them.


End file.
